Grapes Upside Down

3. Margarita Salt

~Madisen~

Readying our wardrobes, the girls and I take advantage of the mild temperature with the knowledge that autumn is rapidly approaching in the Southern hemisphere. We dig out the sexiest outfits buried in our massive suitcases and spend an eternity messing around with hair styles and makeup, wanting to make the most of our debut to the Chilean night scene.

To me, fashion is an art form; I have always loved experimenting with different styles.  But living in the chilly climate of the Pacific Northwest, my clothes are often much more conservative than what I'm wearing tonight.

"Ooh! This shade would be perfect on Madisen!" Daniela moves towards me with an open stick of shiny coral lip gloss. Her assertiveness is charming, and I allow her to dab and smear it across my lips.

"Oh my God, you look like a model," she proclaims in Spanish, surveying me head to toe as she neatly twists the cap back onto her color gloss. Daniela is short and curvaceous with shoulder-length hair of tight chestnut ringlets. Her dark mocha skin contrasts beautifully with the simple cream dress she has selected for tonight's outing.

"This girl is beautiful," assents Clara, linking arms with me. I smile graciously, watching my cheeks shade to pink in the mirror. Everyone in the room is gorgeous, and it always makes me uncomfortable when friends draw attention to my appearance or compare themselves.

Clara dons a tight skirt that hugs her petite frame and a sage green mid-riff blouse. Evie, who is from New York, sports the most risque outfit among us—a black dress that rides dangerously at the border between her thighs and butt cheeks. I'm not sure how she plans to walk to the disco, let alone dance.

"I overheard the guys talking about you at lunch," Evie informs me, giggling. "You know that guy Brock?"

"No... I'm not sure..."

"Really? I'm sure you've noticed him—tall, handsome, muscular. He said you were cute."

Clara grins teasingly at me. She knows I don't always relish the attention I seem to so often receive from guys.

My curves developed early in middle school, inviting more attention than my introverted, still childlike soul desired. By the time I entered high school, I was exhausted from the constant stares, comments and unsolicited touching of my hair. Uninterested in dating, I preferred to crush on boys from a distance, in the privacy of my own imagination.

"Do you have a boyfriend back home, Madisen?" Daniela inquires, perhaps sensing my lack of enthusiasm.

"Nope."

As a college junior, I'm still somewhat cautious with boys. I've dated here and there but haven't quite clicked with anyone yet.

Analyzing my reflection, I'm almost a touch afraid of my image. Tonight I'm emanating a higher degree of glam than I normally feel comfortable with.

Latin American males have a reputation for being openly vocal about their attraction, and as I take in the cobalt dress ruffling along my upper thighs, its silky material hugging my cleavage, my stomach begins flipping around.

"We all stick together tonight," Daniela advises. Her family is Ecuadorian, and although she isn't quite fluent, her speech flows out more naturally than the rest of ours. All of us seem to be in agreement about conversing strictly in Spanish, which makes me almost giddy.

There's a knock on our hostel room door, and several more girls from the exchange group tumble in with an explosion of colorful fabrics, perfume scents and high-pitched chatter.

We eventually begin our trek towards the discoteca. Marcela and Helena, our travel group leads, have given us directions to the "agency-approved" club, as well as explicit instructions for staying safe.